The night before the ball
by Gigantisch Romantisch
Summary: Graf von Krolock is not at all in good mood before the ball, and decides to try one of Herbert's remedies. Inspired by some fan-art drawing.


Night had come at last. No stars in sight, and hidden behind the clouds was the moon as if she couldn't bear to see my face. It felt there was no light left in this world, no hope, not even a false one, only silence and the shadows of my torment.

I sighed and closed my eyes. Melancholy descended upon me like a cloak of lead, weighing my spirits down until I was convinced they would never lift again. One of these nights it would drive me to doing something I would regret if I remained to see the consequences.

Perhaps tonight would be that night.

The gate of the graveyard beckoned seductively. I could lose myself there, reliving every death on my conscience while waiting for the sun to come up and devour me. It would be such a relief.

Yet what would become of my beloved? Herbert, staying behind in the castle with that professor and the boy and the girl? Would they attempt to slaughter him again, like they had yesterday? Would they succeed this time, reducing my little angel to a reeking pile of gore?

No. I could not let this happen. He needed me. I needed him.

But the blackness in me expanded still and threatened to swallow me whole, hungry as I was. I required something to save my mind from the pool of misery it was drowning in.

Stalking through the castle, in a pace nearly swift enough to be considered a flight, I searched for relief. My feet brought me from the parapet to the basements and back up, to the kitchen. Empty for centuries I could only smell the ghosts of the banquets once prepared here. The yearning for times long gone made my sorrow even harder to bear and I bolted.

The library, filled with Herbert's books, would have been a nice distraction if that old buffoon hadn't been there. I snarled at the door and kept on pacing until the unexpected aroma of flowers stopped me dead in my tracks.

What was that? There hadn't been fresh flowers in this castle since Herbert's mother died. Perfume would be the logical answer, but no. Herbert enjoyed far more subtle fragrances and the girl had mostly smelled of garlic.

Curiosity bested the gloom for a moment and I opened the door that lead me to the scent. I found myself in a bathroom I had forgotten I outfitted about fifty years ago for Herbert's sake. One of his trips to France had given him all kinds of ideas about comfort.

I could hear his sweet angelic voice inside my head now. "A bath always lifts my spirits, papa. Perhaps you should try it sometime."

Perhaps I should.

Abruptly, before my despondency would take over again, I turned the knobs and listened to the spluttering of the pipes. Vigorous like blood from a slashed jugular the water sprayed out.

On a shelf next to the filling tub was a selection of glass jars with oils and salts. I selected one at random and poured its contents into the steaming water. Foam began to form almost immediately, growing into sweet smelling white mountains.

Mesmerized I gazed upon this wonder, already feeling the weight on my shoulders lessen. White globs spilled over the edge onto the tile floor and hastily I turned off the water.

Silence descended.

Was this truly what I needed right now? A bath? Would something as simple as that indeed ease my neverending torment? It seemed ridiculous and I was ready to turn my back and spend the last hours before midnight in the graveyard lamenting my fate. Yet when Herbert had made his quiet suggestion his beautiful eyes had been clouded by concern. Was he afraid to lose me? He had never said so, but now that I thought about it, he seemed to hover around me more than ever. If he hadn't been getting ready for the ball at this very moment, he might even be here and urge me on to step into the hot foamy water.

My fingers were unbuttoning my vest before I recognized I had made the decision to at least try this. I unfastened my cloak and carefully hung it on the stand near the bath. As carefully I removed my coat, vest, shirt and undershirt, revealing pale skin and dark hair. My satin trousers followed my shoes and socks and then I hesitated.

Since my death there had not been a need to change my smallclothes, nor utilize my body in the way I used to. I was shocked to realise it shamed me to be nude in my own company.

Eyes squeezed firmly shut I tore off the last of my garments and as a blind man I groped towards the bath tub, hand slamming against the cast iron rim. Not until I had lowered myself into the scalding water I dared to open my eyes.

The sensation took away the breath that had died in my chest long ago. I was dimly aware that there should be agony, the water being far hotter than bearable for a healthy mortal, but for me it felt…

Soothing.

The coldness of death, that had settled in my body threehundred years prior and had been my companion until I had ceased to notice it any longer, fled before the heat and left me feeling somewhat human again.

With a deep sigh I let go of a tension I didn't know was there, sliding down until the water reached my chin and the fragrant foam tickled my nose. With my eyes closed I focused on how it felt.

It wasn't hard to imagine how this would calm my upset boy. I pictured his golden locks floating on the water, his eyes closed and his mouth curved in a smile of languid pleasure, making him look even more like an angel. The water would almost literally wash away his worries.

Worries that were mostly caused by me, I was well aware of that. Guilt cooled the water and I tried to push it away from me. To my surprise, that actually was effective. Once again I could relax.

Herbert understood me. He had said more than once that he didn't blame me for anything that had happened. Not with his mother, not with him. He even reassured me that he forgave me the trashing I dealt him when I first learned about his predisposition.

No father was ever loved by his son as Herbert loved me. That alone made my suffering worthwhile, I now knew.

I sat up and looked around. A large sponge sat on the edge of the bath and I took it, seeing it for what it truly was instead of the symbol it had become over the past days. A tool to clean oneself.

The sponge sucked up the water hungrily when I dipped it under the surface. Gingerly I drew it along the skin of my left arm, then my chest. It felt soft and warm, as a lover's caress, and with every stroke it took away the grime left by centuries of loneliness.

Feeling more at ease at each passing minute , I treated most of my body as such, and after a brief hesitation, all of my body. Ponderously I put the sponge back on its ledge and looked at it for a moment, then took it again to enjoy its pleasure.

A soft humming erupted from my throat and abruptly ceased when I became aware of it. This could not be.

But it was and when I surrendered to my feelings again the humming started. It gently echoed against the tile and stained glass, sounding not at all unpleasant. Memories of old stirred, of when I would sing to my little angel, laying in his crib reaching for my hair or pendant, his pretty round face shimmering with love and contentment.

If only Herbert could see me now. He wouldn't believe his old father was capable of this carefree diversion. Not anymore.

Gratitude and love washed through me and for the first time in long I bared my fangs not in a snarl but in a genuine smile. Herbert had saved my life and I would be sure to let him know.

He could have the boy.


End file.
